


I Hunt Snakes

by WizbangBonanza



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, I Don't Even Know, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizbangBonanza/pseuds/WizbangBonanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Before he was caught by the authorities, serial killer Tom Riddle taught his son everything he knew. He hoped that Harry would one day take up the family business like everyone else feared that he would. Harry loves to break expectations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Death (The Family Business)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! This was loosely based off of/inspired by I Hunt Killers by Barry Lyga which is an A+ read if you ever get bored. I was also inspired by Hannibal so you'll find certain phrases that might remind you of it.
> 
> It's been a while since I've posted fanfiction like this and I'm still trying to get back in the groove of things. I have a plan to where this is going but I haven't actually written the entirety of it yet so updates will probably be sporadic after maybe the fourth or fifth chapter. 
> 
> I'll try my best with that. Reviews are always welcome. Have a nice day now :) (or not, idk it's not my life)

"It's all about the eyes, Harry. The light in their eyes as the life blinks out."

That's what he told him as he held Marie Elise down, thumbs applying pressure on her trachea.  He grinned as he looked up at him. A manic-looking grin that couldn't really be a smile stretched across his face and something feral lit up his eyes. It was a stark difference from the stoic expression he always wore, those cold eyes hiding a civilized monster inside of him.

It should've made him sick, it should've revolted him, but it didn't. He couldn't help but feel captivated by his father's methodological preciseness, his elegance, his absolute control over any environment. He bent the world to his will and Harry was _fascinated_.

He hated himself for that. He hated himself for doing nothing but observing, memorizing every movement, every action his father made. He hated himself for standing over this poor suffocating woman, just watching. Always watching.

"Shhh, it's alright, Harry." he whispered as if reading his mind. But in the silence,  it was as if his soft intonation were the word of god from an unholy heaven; surrounding, overbearing, _roaring_ like the blood thumping in his ears.

The woman finally passed out, dead to the world if it wasn't for her beating heart. That would soon change.

Tom held his shoulders, and crooned supportive whispers in his ears, “You can do it, son.”

"What?" Harry stuttered dumbly. A cruel smile eased itself onto his face. Amusement danced upon his lips.

"You don't have to play dumb with me, young man. I know all about you. I am your father after all." His father wormed a heavy handle into his palm and Harry tried not to let horror override his systems as he realized what the glint of sharp silver was.

He tried to say no, tried to push his father away. Fear held his heart in a vise grip. A frantic panic blared alarms in his mind.  He couldn't do anything but tremble and uselessly open his mouth in hesitance. Normally, Tom Riddle would disapprove this behavior. Weakness was not to be shown. Not ever.

However, it would seem this time was an exception, because he smiled and said, "That's fear you're feeling, son. Fear is good in controlled doses. Fear is what keeps you in line, keeps your little toes from being severed from your body. Fear is what keeps you safe but only if you have control over it. Too much fear makes people do stupid things, son, really idiotic things." He grimaced in distaste as he patted his son’s back.

Harry didn't know how he got to his knees without collapsing. Bending down seemed impossible when he could barely control his trembling legs. He barely noticed his father clutching his shoulders like a proud parent.

"Kill her, Harry, prepare her for death. Remember the deer?" he purred in his ear. Harry remembered. He remembered not the guilt he had felt when he shot it. Not the pain in its eyes as he plunged the hunting knife into its heart, not the regret of taking a precious life. Not the disgust of skinning the majestic, innocent animal and proceeding to eat it. He remembered none of those, simply because those feelings had not existed for him.

No.

Instead, he remembered the nothingness he felt, a pure apathy as the beast drew a final breath. 

He remembered the insane glee of his father, loving the pain in the deer's eyes and closing his own as if relishing the taste.

He remembered the confusion, why didn't he feel the crushing regret, the suffocating guilt? Was he even human?

He remembered his father, beaming towards him, exclaiming words of praise as he messed up his hair. He remembered the pride in his father's eyes and his happy hum as they walked back to the cabin.

But most of all, he remembered the warm joy blossoming in his chest, like a fire unfurling its flames as if it were a flower. Happy that he had pleased his dear dad. Oh how we wished he felt the former nonexistent feelings. Then he wouldn't feel like a pathetic puppy adoring his homicidal master.

How absolutely sickening.

A surge of panic overflowed his heart and drowned his mind.

"I- I can't." he couldn't help but stutter out.  

His father was always nothing but predictable in the sense that he worked in patterns when he killed. At least that was what it seemed like for Harry. Perhaps he'd been with the man for too long. The police called him a volatile, absolutely insane criminal, but that couldn't be farther from the truth.

As far as Harry knew, Tom Riddle was completely sane, always the voice of reason. There wasn't any kind of MO his dad was infamous for, or crazy justification he was acting upon. If there was a threat or annoyance, he'd eliminate it. Simple as that.  He wasn’t crazy or anything. He knew it was wrong but that wasn't stopping him. And he knew for a fact that neither would Harry.

And he never does.

True to his usual disposition, Riddle knew exactly what to do. Grabbing the hand of his heir and pupil, Riddle softly comforted him while guiding the knife down along her side, caressing the woman’s skin in lazy continuous strokes. As he knew it would, Harry calmed, his eyes turning into a dull emerald and his breathing evening.

The mass murderer grinned. “Come on, Harry, you know how.”

Less tense now, Harry nodded , following his father’s guidance, too invested in his own comfort to think about what he was doing, what his father was making him do.

Slowly and deliberately, Riddle let go, letting Harry keep going 

going

going

deeper…

 


	2. End of a Gilded Age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize because I am absolute trash at updating stories. Stress and midterms have killed any hope of me updating. However, it's all over now and I am freeeeee
> 
> The next chapter will be up soonish, at least sometime this week. I promise. 
> 
> Special thank you to my wonderful friend, Emma, who helps me edit and Mr. Thompson who has also given me a bit of advice where my grammar is concerned. 
> 
> And of course thank you to everyone who's reviewed and given kudos so far. You are my motivation :)

Harry awoke in cold sweat with red behind his eyelids. He took a second to calm his breathing, and thanked whatever higher power that he didn’t share a room. Or a dorm for that matter. 

Glancing at the clock, he groaned at the red numbers.

**4:30**

He still had _three_ hours until class started. It was futile trying to go to bed again at this point. Sighing, he padded over to the dorm’s small kitchen to make some tea.

He hadn't had a dream like that in a while. It’d been three years since he last seen his father. When he was thirteen, his meticulous, genius, diabolical father was caught. He’d been in the process of packing up his things to go to the next town to begin another cycle: idle, kill a few, clean, and repeat. They’d never stayed longer than six months and normally only stayed about two months. As he faced his task of retrieving his father’s trophies, a gun was clicked to his head.

“Freeze or I swear to motherfucking God, I **will** shoot.” A worn officer had said in a low threatening voice, practically snarling like a dog. A desperation clung to the crevices of his voice, pleading to whatever listening entity to finally finish this case.

Harry had never seen someone so utterly tired and emotionally unbalanced. It was always calm waters with Tom and even when he got mad, his was a quiet anger. If he ever had a semblance of a loss of self control, Harry would say it was when he was killing his victims. But even then, in spite of his leaking emotions, Tom was always in control. There was never any sign of emotional weakness from him. He had once said that he utilized his emotions like a tool. It helped him complete the job but it never got in the way.

This man, however, wore his heart on his sleeve and, by the looks of it, it appeared to have been recently broken. The police officer looked to the world shattered by his storming grief. Thus, Harry had done his best to oblige the unpredictable man.

His father had been found first, having been apprehended in the dining room before the police had sent officers up to retrieve Harry in the attic. Apparently, someone from Tom’s hometown in Godric’s Hollow had managed to trace a trail of practically nonexistent breadcrumbs back to Tom based on a random hunch.

Harry had felt nothing but a numb terror, legs about to give out as he walked down the stairs to the dining room. Hands above his head, cold and sweaty, he struggled to maintain his breathing. His father, on the other hand, looked positively gleeful which led to Harry questioning his faith on his father’s sanity and wondering if the newspapers really _were_ right in their assumption. Then again, his father always loved a good thrill.

“Well, well~, I see that you’ve found my son. Say hello, Harry, looks like we have some guests.” Tom gave a smile as warm as a pleasant summer breeze but Harry knew his eyes were as cold as an arctic wasteland. They always were. Glancing at his father and back to the person behind him, Harry pondered on what to do next, trying to pick the wisest decision trapped in a room of armed policemen and his killer of a dad.

“H-hi” Harry said lamely.

_Oh **God**. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die._

“Good, good. Now that we’ve all exchanged pleasantries, who is the lucky man who’s pieced together all of my clues?” Tom cheerfully inquired as if asking who won last night’s football game. Harry fearfully shifted his eyes around the room. There were maybe ten officers in the room and no doubt more outside. Though, even as he was caught, Tom still had control over the room. Tension was as taut as a violin string and Tom looked unaffected, acting like the joking heartwarming father the neighborhood thought he was. Although Harry was appalled by him (or perhaps appalled at himself for not appalling him, he quite never knew the difference), he also couldn’t help but be impressed.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law-"

“Oooh, the Miranda Rights, my favorite.”

“-you have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney-“

“No problems there. Say, you never did tell me who caught me…”

“-one will be appointed to you. Do you understand-“

“Yes, yes. Oh my. Do you always carry handcuffs around with you, or am I just special?”

“-these rights as they have been read to you?” The cop handcuffing him had ended his mandatory warning with a quickened pace, a furious blush, and a disgusted grimace.

Wickedly smirking, Tom held his handcuffed hands up as if saying “see you later, be back soon,” to his charge.

He was always infuriating like that.

As he was led out the door of our house by a group of officers, the officer who had caught Harry and another roughly led him to another car as they gruffly grunted at him to stay quiet.

Not like that was a problem. Harry was a terrified thirteen year old boy at the time of his father’s arrest. Thanks to his seemingly insane behavior and his reputation, Tom Riddle had successfully pleaded with the insanity card and was going to spend the rest of his life in a mental facility. For months after, Harry would have horrific dreams of that fateful day and of his father. Recently, dreams like that were few in number, but when they did happen nothing good ever came of it.

_God, this is going to be a shitty day, isn’t it?_


	3. Family Ties

Tom was found to be the only child of Tom Riddle, Sr. and Merope Gaunt, both of whom were dead. Both families had disapproved of this marriage and weren’t surprised when the father stepped out on the two.

“It was going to happen eventually.” Both families had, for once, agreed.

While the Riddles were entirely rid of the Gaunt problem, wiped away with another marriage to a well to do family, the Gaunts had, on their hands, familial disgrace evidenced by the wailing lump of sheets in Merope’s arms. They had given her an ultimatum, to get rid of it or to leave and never come back. For her part, she had chosen the latter but didn’t get very far. She was no more than two towns over when she soon found herself unable to financially support herself let alone her child. It wasn’t long before she’d found herself on the steps of an orphanage, desperate to help her baby even if it meant giving him up.

“It was troubling times. Nobody wants someone who can’t give them something in return.” Harry’s father had told him when he asked why she didn’t just go to a hospital.

They had accepted and she had stayed long enough to choose a name. Tom had never forgiven her for that, forcing him to be raised in squalor.

Merope was completely broke and the once comfortable lady had been reduced to street alleys. Of course, there wasn’t exactly a record on the streets and no one knew exactly what became of the poor woman, whether or not she begged for scraps or partook in prostitution. However, it was apparent that whatever happened to Merope was simply too much for the poor girl as her ultimate fate hung in a noose on a street lamp of a very public town square.

Tom had never been adopted, going through the system since he was born to the moment he turned 18. Due to his genius, however, he had gotten into a nearby private boarding school on scholarship where the matrons gladly deposited him for nine months of the year.

In respect to Harry’s living situations, social services had followed usual procedure and put him with the closest relatives despite the fact that Tom had never met any of them in his life.

The Gaunts, along with disowning their only daughter, had been certifiably crazy. Mental illness had run rampant in the family due to hereditary complications. The Gaunts were an old family of an era where it was better to marry your own siblings than to marry someone of a lower class. Thus, being no place to raise a child, custody had been given to the Riddles.

The Riddles had acted frigidly civil towards him but positively amiable in comparison to the Gaunts who, upon visitation, had thrown a heavy lamp at him. Though, they had wanted nothing to do with Harry and were tempted to drop him at the orphanage like they had indirectly with Harry’s father long ago. If not for the public’s general unease of potentially having another murderer-in-the-making (“I swear, that’s why he went stark raving mad”), and the image of tossing a defenseless child out on the streets (“What would the community say?!”), they wouldn’t have taken him in.

The Riddles, another old family, had thrived where the Gaunts rotted. Still wealthy in their own right, they shipped Harry off to private boarding school only having to deal with the boy for five more summers, a relatively short time. Ironically, this was the same private boarding school that his father had went to as a child.This fact, however, was all hushed up, compliments to the school board who held quite a sway with their high economic standing and considerable influence in the rumor mill.

Said school also hadn’t wanted to deal with the son of Tom Riddle, Jr. and probably would’ve downright refused, hell to what that said about them. They’ve had enough noble families come through their doors that it wouldn’t matter.

Unfortunately for them, however, they had absolutely no basis to warrant their refusal. The Riddles had more than enough money to supply Harry with that education and Harry himself had passed his entrance exam with flying colors. Other than his parentage, he had no criminal record, no record of drug abuse, which was more than some could say of other current students. He was physically fit and, according to a psych test, mentally sane. According to the homeschooling reports his father had filled out, he had gotten straight A’s. Harry was, on the record, an exemplary member of society.

Hogwarts Academy was an old school boarding house that had recently become coed, merging with its sister school, Beauxbatons. An odd private high school, Hogwarts had students tested with an entrance exam which would determine both their intelligence and their talents. This would help the school gauge performance levels and learning levels in order to help them in class. It would also greatly determine into which house  one were sorted. Hogwarts Academy had four houses: Gryffindor of the lions, Ravenclaw of the eagles, Hufflepuff of the badgers, and Slytherin of the snakes.

Stereotypically, Gryffindors were made up of students who had talents in sports and preferred practical learning. Ravenclaws were those who excelled in academics, memorization, and theoretical learning. Hufflepuffs had many talents but especially in the arts and learned based on their own observations and reflections. Slytherin were pragmatists and had interests ranging from politics and business to dancing and songwriting, with one thing in common, a raging ambition.

The reason for the deliberate sectionalism of students was simply to create competition in order for the best to rise above the rest. Harry was sure his father would’ve fit in here well. His father had thought of his time at the academy kindly, and fondly referred to it as his “personal hellhole.”

Harry, having transferred near the middle of what would be his freshmen year with his special circumstances, wasn’t sorted into a house immediately. His professors, discussing it over on multiple occasions, had enough mercy on him to just give him a small, empty dorm to himself above the science wing. He was near enough to teachers that he was watched but secluded enough from the other students so that he didn’t live near them. His professors had concluded that he wouldn’t be able to properly integrate with his class no matter which house he might be sorted into even if he didn’t come with his complicated situation.

This was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, Harry was free from judging eyes and nobody could bother him in his private haven. On the other, he didn’t belong anywhere and he was given little opportunity to make friends.

This also didn’t stop students from gossiping about what he did in his own time. There was talk that he secretly made bombs from the chemicals just downstairs (“he’s certainly able to, he’s smart enough, I wouldn’t put it past him”), or that he had a specific hit list of offending police officers and when he got rid of the bodies he stuffed them under his floorboards (“like Telltale Heart”) or experimented on them until they were beyond human recognition (“he does have all that equipment at his disposal…”).

The more horrid ones had joked that there was a fifth house at the academy known for those of homicidal dispositions  who learnt by killing people and absorbing their intelligence by drinking their blood (“Riddle’s house of the would-be murderers”).

Harry had succeeded in ignoring this for the most part, which was quite impressive given his age. Although, he had a lot of practice in ignoring the atrocities in others.

As a pariah to a private school and the sole heir of an infamous serial killer, the professors had always made sure he was still sane in the form of social visits, luncheons and tea parties.

He supposed that’s how he got mixed in with the particular group of students who insisted that he hang out with them for the rest of eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I've managed to keep my promise and I'll try to keep this up. You can probably expect the next update to come next week or the week after.
> 
> So most of this chapter is just background but i promise next chapter that things will actually happen. I hope that you're enjoying the story so far and reviews are always welcome :)
> 
> Special thanks again to Emma for being wonderful and editing it. And thanks to those of you who've left kudos and reviews!


	4. Cold and Alone Suits Us Well

Rubeus Hagrid had taken pity on the boy since day one. Being the groundskeeper as well as head of Earth Science, Woodshop, and other technical classes, Hagrid was a very busy man but it seemed that he always had time for Harry.

He had accompanied a group of teachers in escorting Harry from Riddle Manor to the school when he’d first come. Although the other teachers thought he was a bit careless, unhygienic, and a little too madly in love with animals, he was a sweet man and it was seemingly impossible to have ill will towards him. He was picked that day to accompany the potentially lethal teenager due to his size.

Hagrid was **huge**.

Apparently, the others had thought if it came to a fight to the death with the young Riddle, they had faith in Hagrid.

He’d greatly intimidated the boy who was still stuck in the numb terror that settled into his bones ever since his father was caught. Harry had stared at him with apprehension at first, and guarded himself (what for he didn’t know) as the giant approached. Instead of hitting him or whatever he thought was going to happen, Hagrid had merely held out his hand for him to shake and warmly introduced himself.

  “Rubeus Hagrid, at yer service.” Harry had stared dumbly at him, “…need some ‘elp with tha’?” and he had easily helped him with his bags.

Hagrid had expressed more than enough disdain for his father which made his friendliness towards Harry a lot more confusing. Whenever word of his father popped up, Hagrid produced an ugly scowl upon his face and he would mutter angrily.

Though Hagrid had clearly despised his father with every inch of his being quite a lot more than others, he had been friendly with him from the beginning and persevered in interacting with him at least once every two weeks. Harry didn’t have the faintest idea why and during lunch one day, the usually oblivious Hagrid had picked up on this.

“Yer not ya fa’thr, ay ‘arry,” he responded with a statement rather than a question, “You remind me of muhself when I was a lad. Besides, I like ya well enouf.”

Harry still hadn’t the faintest idea how he could ever imprint such a good impression on a person but he was thankful nonetheless. Perhaps it was this gratefulness that kept him coming every two weeks ever since he went against his father’s warnings of getting close to others.

Whatever the reason, Sunday found himself in the hut of Rubeus Hagrid having tea in his living room.

“Mind the mess.”

He opened the door for Harry who had wanted to escape the crisp, chilly October air.

His sophomore year had just started and Harry wanted no more than to just put himself into a three year long coma.

It wasn’t as if anybody would miss him.

“‘Arry, you should wear a jacket in this wea’er.”

Harry had been wearing only his button up shirt and slacks uniform, which was very little to shield himself from the cold autumn winds. He only sheepishly shrugged and mumbled that he would next visit. As Hagrid put on a kettle, Harry greeted Fang by scratching a little behind his ears.

Hagrid actually lived in a humble, yet pleasant cottage in a sleepy nearby town, Hogsmeade, about a ten minute drive away. He preferred, however, o stay in his quiet hut on school grounds near the forest. It also made commuting and his job as groundskeeper easier. The forest was teeming with wildlife, a calling to the animal lover.  

“So, ‘ow's life been treatin’ ya?” Hagrid beamed at him before pouring steaming tea into small mugs. Even they seemed comically small compared to his large fingers as he set one before Harry. He took a sip before replying.

“Nothing different, just the usual.”

Hagrid furrowed his brows.

“Jus’ the usual, eh? Meaning keepin’ to yerself, locked up in that dorm of yers, all by yer lonesome?”

Harry sighed.

 _How accurate_.

“It’s not so bad. I have the teachers to watch me and I get along fine. At least I have privacy, nobody comes to bother me while I’m in my dorm.”

 _Because they’re too scared_.

Hagrid's small smile morphed into a concerned frown. “‘Arry…”

“Yes, yeah yeah, I know Hagrid. I should be hanging out with friends and playing sports and joining clubs and doing things like people my age. It’s just, it’s hard.” He finished lamely.

 _I’ve also never done something like that before_ …

“ _ **You mean you’ve never had friends before.**_ ”  His father’s voice popped up in his head twisting his thoughts per usual.

 _Shut up_.

“ _ **Rude**_.”

“…but we ‘ave to keep tryin’, y’know?” Harry’s head looked towards him in surprise. Fortunately, Hagrid hadn’t noticed his lapse in attention.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I guess we do.”

“Good lad. Now why don’t we-“ a loud thump from outside interrupted him. Both of them whipped their heads around to find faces in the window that immediately shouted out and ducked in response.

“Why those lil’- AY you lot, get back in ‘ere!” His stern teacher voice had five kids looking sheepish at his door frame.

“Hi Hagrid.” A chorus of low mumbles rang out with greetings and apologies.

“Don’t you ‘hi Hagrid,’ me. ‘onest, I expected bett’r than this from my fav’rite group of students.” Said group had enough decency to look reasonably ashamed. Harry stared at them wondering what to make of them.

“Sorry, ‘arry. We can do this again later if ya like.” He apologized and Harry nodded.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” One of the students, a messy redhead, was momentarily distracted, too distracted to look ashamed.

“WAIT-that’s him, isn’t it!? Harriso-no, it was something weird… Hayden, Hardy? No! Hadrian! Hadrian Riddle!?” Obnoxiously, he yelled out as he turned towards the group.

Some of them looked directly at Harry with apprehension in their eyes.

 _Oh **no**_.

“Shut it, Ron.” A female with wild brown wavy hair grounded out. Harry had recognized her from some of his honors classes. If he remembered correctly, she was the genius of his year and they had occasionally teamed up to work on group projects. She was nice, pleasant even, but a bit of a know-it-all.

“But _Hermione_ , he’s the guy. The only one in Riddle house, you know. The one of murderers or whatnot. Really, I’d never thought I’d see him face to face-“ Hermione angrily dug her elbow into his shoulder.

“OW! Hermione, I-"

 _And this was why I like to live **alone**_.

“Hagrid, I think I should leave.” He icily interjected. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he used this tone of voice, and it surprised him that it had suddenly made itself known. It particularly reminded him of his father when he was annoyed and he had avoided using it as to not gain the fear of his peers. However, despite its time of disuse, it apparently had the worked just fine on the now terrified group.

“‘Arry-“ Hagrid tried.

“I’ll come back later this week. Perhaps when we have some privacy.” The group visibly flinched and darted their eyes away as he glared at them.

“Have a nice day.” With that, Harry briskly strode away from the hut, a chilly anger freezing his veins and heat bursting in his head. He could still faintly hear the furious voice of Hagrid and his lab partner hitting the redhead as he angrily walked back to his dorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Yes, I got the chapter title from a Panic! at the Disco song. I know I need to work on writing Hagrid's accents. I apologize for that. Life is hard; I'm trying my best. 
> 
> Now, as I've stated before, I haven't actually gotten to writing the whole story yet so posts will be very sporadic after this one. I have an idea of the final destination of this fic but only a vague notion of the next chapter. So expect that. 
> 
> Special thanks to Emma, my wonderful friend who edits my work. May her life be full of sparkles and rainbows for she is the bomb diggity. Also, thank you to everyone who's given kudos and has reviewed. You are my motivation and are, thus, cherished highly.


End file.
